Linked
by artemis13
Summary: The events of Teen Wolf as seen through slash-tinted goggles. Derek/Jackson heavy. M for possible lemon zest later on. Prologue is purely an OC intro & can be skipped if you don't care about such things.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf, or any of the characters therein. I simply toy with the idea of using them to my heart's delight. I DO own any and all original characters, but I would actually be pretty stoked if the ideas generated were used by MTV, so...yeah. Please don't sue me, I have no money, and I'm too pretty for jail.**

_A/N: This is my first forray into the world of fan fiction after an extremely lengthy hiatus. Bear with me, as I'm a bit rusty and I'm working on getting my groove back (In talks with Stella, will keep you updated.) That said, this is more of an introductory chapter that will focus pretty solely on a new character I'm throwing into the TW 'verse, simply because the idea has been rolling around in my head since I watched the show. HOWEVER, he will be a very minor character in subsequent chapters, and this will focus extensively on all thing Derek and Jackson. But again, I ask that you just bear with me for now._

I love any and ALL critiques/reviews. That said, there's a certain way to go about doing it. If you think it sucks, please, tell me so. But do not be an evil troll. I'll burn your bridge down. With my face.

**Linked**  
[Prologue]

As the last rays of light danced through the trees, dying upon the barren branches, Hunter found himself swept up in the scent of blood. He stared at the blade in his hand briefly, contemplating the night's events as he always did.

The irony of his name was not lost on him. Hunter had never been birthed into a line of true hunters, but when his family was slaughtered by the weres, he knew nothing but the desire for vengeance. He sought out those that had the reputation of slaying creatures that most never saw. Only with their help would he be able to achieve his goals.

And he had.

In part.

Being a hunter, his work was never truly done. When one beast was felled, another inevitably took its place. And while he'd yet to find the monsters that slew his own flesh and blood, he vowed to kill any and all of the beasts that stood in his way.

However, he'd never killed without just cause. Few ever stopped to think about what a werewolf truly was, but Hunter knew that some were able to keep their power and actions in check. Not all lycans were cold-blooded killers, and he would leave those that did no harm alone.

But fortune was not favoring him this night. He'd tracked down a pack of particularly vicious pups, dropping them with ease. The alpha, however, provided a challenge that Hunter never enjoyed. After what seemed like an eternity of playing cat and mouse with the beast, Hunter lured him out and disposed of him. However, he'd received quite a beating in his own right.

He wiped the blade clean on the shredded fabric of his jeans before tucking it back into its sheath beneath his jacket. He then eyed his mangled hand, grunting quietly. The pain would subside quickly enough, as he'd received more than his fair share of scrapes and bites in the years he'd been at this. As it was, the lacerations were already beginning to stitch themselves up quite quickly. They would still require a few hours before they healed fully, but the pack had been slain, and he had nothing to do but rest.

Careful to avoid cutting himself, he picked at the tips of his gloved fingers, removing the wolf's bane-laced blades and tossing them aside. Wielding wolf's bane when you had a touch of lycanthropy yourself was extremely dangerous, but it proved to be extremely effective when facing a foe.

Giving himself a final once over, and deciding he was no worse for the wear, he began heading back toward town. Whipping out his cell, he punched in a number quickly. He waited patiently as it rang, bobbing and weaving through low-hanging branches.

"Hello, Misses Argent? It's Hunter. I was wondering if I might have a word with your husband.."

**...**

**NOW ENTERING BEACON HILLS**

Hunter glanced at the sign as he sped past, the sun slowly beginning to crest over the horizon. After he'd spoken with Chris, Hunter returned to his hotel room and quickly gathered his things. Apparently, a shit storm had been brewing in the small community, with an angry alpha at the eye of it.

The Argents were the best of the best, and he knew that when they asked for help there were serious problems. Thankfully he'd only been a few states away, and he was able to speed along back roads, making the trip in just under ten hours.

He was passing along the outskirts of the forest when a blur of movement caught his eye. Given his current speed, whatever it was had been moving pretty damn fast.

He slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt. Fishing a handgun out of the duffel on his passenger seat, he slapped in a fresh magazine and hopped out of the vehicle, jogging along the edge of the treeline. _Come out, come out, wherever you are..._ he thought to himself, keeping his eyes trained on the treetops. He knew an attack from the ground was unlikely, as the most advantageous attack position was almost always from higher ground.

"I know you're out here, and I know you understand me. So let's cut it with the cryptic and get your werewolfy ass down here, alright?"

As though on cue, a large figure dropped from the trees, landing mere feet from Hunter. He whipped the pistol up toward the man, but didn't fire; he knew that as he soon as leveled his aim, the beast would be elsewhere. And he was. This one was fast, faster than any he'd dealt with previously. But he knew it couldn't be the alpha.

He tried to feel out his target, but he couldn't draw a bead on him. His scent was everywhere, and he couldn't zero in on exactly where he was.

Until he was flat on his back with an angry were gripping him by the throat.

The man glared down at him, his steely eyes boring into him. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Could ask you the same thing," Hunter choked out, pointing at the hand that was wrapped around his throat. "Would be easier to answer if not for this, though."

The other man continued to glare at him, indecision flashing through his eyes. He reluctantly withdrew his hand, but he extended his claws and held them level with Hunter's throat. "Talk."

"Fair enough," he replied, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm Hunter."

"Cute."

"Witty banter, not something I'd expect from one of you," he muttered, quirking a brow.

"Patience is wearing thin.."

"Fine, fine. I'm here because there's an alpha lurking in the area, which I'm sure you already know. The Argents filled-"

He found himself in a death grip yet again, a vicious snarl working its way out of the man's chest.

"Right," he rasped, "I take it you dislike them."

"Give me one good reason not to rip your throat out right now," he growled, eyes flashing as his fangs began to descend.

"Again, hand."

"_Talk!_"

Hunter's eyes slid closed as he attempted to focus on not blacking out. "Have..you killed anyone?" he managed, unable to breathe.

The man looked confused. "Why?"

"Answer...the question.."

He stared at him briefly, unsure where this was going. "No."

"Then...I have..no quarrel with..."

He was nearly on the verge of passing out when the bigger man relinquished his grip. He immediately rolled to his stomach and began coughing, gasping for breath. The older man stood and watched him, grunting quietly.

"So why did you come out here, then?"

"Big bad wolf, remember?" Hunter heaved.

"And stopping to take care of me?"

"I didn't know who you were or what your aim was," he said in earnest, slowly rising to his feet. He eyed the man up and down, his breathing finally starting to return to normal. "Your turn. Who are you?"

"Derek," he answered simply.

"Derek," he repeated, watching the man. A steady gaze was the only response he received. "That isn't helpful."

"You asked who I am, I answered."

Hunter heaved an exasperated sigh, fixing a deadpan glare on the man. "Quickly rethinking this 'no quarrel' thing."

Derek sighed, throwing his hands up. "What else do you want? You apparently know what I am, and that I haven't killed anyone. What the hell else do you need?"

"What are you doing out here? I don't see you as the type who loves biking, long moonlit strolls through the forest, and The Notebook."

Derek growled quietly.

Hunter growled in return.

Derek's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're... How? I would have felt you."

"Much as I'm flattered by the come-on," he began, Derek's eyes narrowing in response, "there's no way you could have known. I've got some of the benefits of the whole lycanthropy thing, but I'm not a full-blown werewolf. Heightened senses, bolstered agility and stamina, rapid recovery, and for some reason the whole fangs and claws bit. But I can't shift."

"How the hell does that happen?" Derek asked incredulously.

"I don't know the specifics of it," he sighed. "I was mauled by a were at one point - about three years ago now. The guy who fixed me up said he gave me some sort of antidote, but it didn't take. Not completely. I'm not as strong as an actual lycan, but I'm not completely human. Wolf's bane and silver bullets are still bad juju."

"So now you're killing your own kind?" Derek questioned, his anger returning quickly.

"You are _not_ my kind!" he snapped back.

"Touchy subject, huh?" Derek asked with a smirk.

"Don't push me," Hunter seethed.

Derek watched him fight off the urge to let his fangs out. He knew that, shifter or no, he had his triggers that brought the wolf out just like any other were.

"Fight it all you like, we're more similar than you care to admit."

"You've known me all of five minutes and you're qualified to make that assessment, huh?" Hunter took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He wouldn't let this one get the best of him. "I'm done with this. You just make sure _you_ stay out of the way and don't harm anyone, _I'll_ make sure the Argents leave you be."

Derek stared quietly at the man for what seemed like an eternity. "What do you get out of this?"

"Pardon?"

"What. Do you get. Out of this. English, fairly sure it's your native tongue."

"Fuck you, smart-ass," Hunter spat, shoving past him. Which landed him on his back again.

"Answer the damn question!" he shouted, pinning him down.

"Should really work on your people skills," he groaned, his head swimming momentarily. Once he shook the brief wave of dizziness, he locked eyes with Derek, sighing. "I'm not in the habit of harming innocents," he answered finally. "I don't _get_ anything out of it, I just don't feel the need to kill those who have done nothing wrong." The werewolf watched him, trying to see if he was lying, Hunter guessed. Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Derek stood up once more, offering a hand to the younger man. Hunter swatted it away, rising quickly.

"Besides that," he continued, looking around for the handgun he'd lost when Derek initially assaulted him, "you're too pretty to die. That tall, dark, and handsome thing is your saving grace, really."

"Spare me."

Retrieving his firearm, Hunter looked back at Derek once more, a playful smile dancing across his youthful face. "By the way?"

"What?"

Hunter fired a round into Derek's foot, smirking as the man yelped in pain and dropped to the ground. "That's for strangling me. Twice."

"I'll kill you, you asshole!" the werewolf managed through gritted teeth, the pain far worse than a normal bullet should be.

Hunter dropped to a kneel beside him, shaking his head and 'tsk'ing at him. "And if you do, then the deal is obviously off. Relax, you big baby, it's just silver. It'll hurt like a bitch, and you'll be tender for a few days longer than usual, but you'll bounce back."

Derek grabbed Hunter by the jacket, fixing him with a glare that felt as though it might kill a lesser man. "If you _ever_ pull anything like that again, I swear that you'll learn a whole new definition of pain."

"Promise?" Hunter questioned, grinning wickedly at the wounded man. Derek growled.

"Alright, alright. I've had enough fun with you for one night. See you around, Derek," he said with a wink as he rose to his feet.

"Fuck you."

"Maybe, if you play your cards right," he countered as he headed for his car, throwing a casual wave at the man as he sauntered away.

He cast a glance back at the raven-haired beau, who was finally managing to get to his feet. He smiled to himself as he ducked into his car and slammed the door. _I guess it's a good thing they don't make all of 'em that way. Holy hell._

He spared the man one more look, albeit briefly, as he pulled back onto the road, heading for the rendezvous point.

_Holy hell, indeed._


	2. Chapter I

**DISCLAIMER: Teen Wolf isn't mine. Jackson isn't mine. Derek isn't mine (And that makes me sad..) I claim ownership over NONE of the things.**

_A/N: Okay, so this chapter...isn't necessarily my finest work, and I can admit that quite readily. I'm a purist, so I try and stick with storylines and stay true to what's canon as best I can. I chose to start events a few episodes into the show, as that seemed the most natural starting point for the whole Jerek thing. But the interaction was so limited in the episode I started with that I wound up with a chapter that was far shorter than I'd intended. But with Derek practically dying the entire episode, it was hard to do much else with him. And I am aware that the ending sucks, but I sat here for the better part of an hour trying to figure out a decent way to end it._

A big issue I had in writing this revolves around Hunter. I've always loathed OCs, simply because most of the time, you're reading something from a specific 'verse because you KNOW those characters. Why should someone throw in a character you've never heard of? That was my first mistake. But it was done simply because I have a few problems with Teen Wolf. While I LOVE the show, some of the characters are just...less than stellar. Stiles is amazing, nothing but love for him. Allison and Lydia are pretty decent, as well. Derek has AMAZING potential, but I feel like his goals fluctuated too much (Granted, he was there to get revenge, and he did, but he felt all over the map to me.) Jackson is totally 1-dimensional (Although amazingly pretty), and Scott can go DIAF. So I threw in my own character as a means to facilitate the writing process. And now he doesn't want to be written out or into the background. Stupid twerp.

But I digress! Take the story for what it is (Mostly just a means for me to get back into writing regularly), and please review. Reviews help me figure out what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, and whether she was born with it, or maybe it's Maybeline. Seriously, critiques are what keep writers going. Do you like Hunter, or want him to bathe in acid? Do the characters deviate too much from their personalities in the show? Should I just let this one crash and burn prematurely? Show me some love! Or at least gratuitous nudity, yeesh.

**Linked**  
[Chapter I]

"How is it that I wind up making nice with every gay guy in this school?" Jackson laughed as he and Hunter wove through the tangled mass of students that congested the hallways of Beacon Hills High.

"Well there's that angelic face, first of all. We're drawn to it; moths to a flame, all that shit," he teased. Jackson shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. "But hey, count your blessings. We're the superior species, after all. Stronger, faster, and we're killer in the sack," he grinned.

Jackson laughed again, jabbing him in the ribs playfully. "Yeah yeah, next time I need to know how to make Lydia hate me, I'll seek your advice on all things anal."

"Good boy," Hunter winked, chuckling. "See ya around, man."

"See ya," Jackson called back as Hunter walked off, shaking his head.

Hunter groaned quietly to himself when he was far enough away from Jackson. "What a fucking bore," he grumbled. "Pretty, definitely, but he has all the personality of a toilet seat. Fucking kids these days.." He continued to ramble quietly to himself, unhappy with how things were progressing. Or rather, weren't progressing. The Argents had planted him in the high school, hoping that he might be able to ascertain some sort of information about the alpha. They hadn't had any leads anywhere else, so it was a start, and Hunter looked younger than he actually was so the plan would work well enough.

_What the hell would any of these kids know about werewolves, though? They're all too caught up in their personal drama, popularity contests, and that stupid-ass lacrosse bullshit. Why did I have to be so damn handsome?_ he thought idly, smirking to himself. _I suppose we all have our crosses to bear._

He was jarred from his thoughts rather suddenly as he looked up just in time to run into what appeared to be a zombie. He staggered backward from the impact, cursing silently to himself. "Sorry, off in my own little wor-"

A genuine smile graced his lips as he cut off, realizing the zombie was none other than Derek Hale.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the most talked about man in town. Or, at least in the circles I frequent. I'd say you're not lookin' so hot, but we both know that's a lie," he said with a chuckle. "Seriously, though, you look like shit. What gives?"

Derek stared at him - almost through him, really. "You.." he muttered.

"Me. Very good. You've mastered the use of pronouns. Now, if you can answer the question, I may give you a treat!"

"Out of my way," he grumbled, brushing past the younger man.

Hunter gently grabbed him by the arm, wanting to stop him but not have him feel threatened. "What's wrong, Derek?" he asked, genuinely concerned. "You look like death. Not a good look on you, just throwing that out there."

Derek spared him the best glare he could muster under the circumstances, his brow slicked with sweat and his eyes nearly dead. "Back off, or you'll die right here," he huffed, earning a grimace from Hunter. "Your little Argent friends aren't taking any great strides toward holding up your end of the deal, which makes me question the bullshit you fed me the other night."

Hunter stared at him, the confusion clearly evident on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"The Argent bitch shot me," he growled quietly, shaking himself loose of the younger man's grip. "Now stay the hell away from me."

He watched Derek trudge down the hallway, obviously in a great deal of pain. _Why would they deviate from their code? I already told Chris about Derek, and we had an understanding..._ He headed toward the parking lot with a renewed sense of purpose, shaking the thoughts from his head. "We'll clear this up right now.."

**...**

Derek continued to shuffle through the throngs of students, wincing as students shoved past him. The pain was nearly unbearable, which Derek wasn't accustomed to. He'd been born into the 'curse', having enjoyed a dulled sense of pain and accelerated healing ever since he could remember. But despite his body's attempts to heal itself, it was failing miserably.

Trying to power through the pain, he continued on, hoping he'd run into Scott eventually. He'd forgotten how big the school was, and running into someone purely by chance was unlikely. Thankfully, luck was on his side and he spotted one of the players he'd see on the lacrosse field with Scott. He approached him quickly, not wanting to risk losing the moment.

"Where's Scott McCall?" he asked, his vision swimming as he steadied himself against the wall of lockers, the brief respite a welcome relief.

Jackson stared at him for a moment, torn between wondering why someone too old for high school was lurking around the halls, and why someone was asking him about that piss-ant McCall. "Why should I tell you?" he asked finally, his usual cocky demeanor coming out in full force.

Derek knew the type. The all-American jock. High on life, and full of nothing but himself and pure bullshit. He hadn't been a fan of them during his own days in school, and his feelings about them hadn't changed much in years prior. "Because I asked politely," he replied, leveling his gaze on the teenager, "and I only do that once."

"Hm," Jackson started with an amused snort, "alright, tough guy. How about I help you find him if you tell me what you're selling? Hm?" Derek stared at him, utterly lost. "What is it? Is it dyna ball?" Derek's brow furrowed. "HGH?"

It all clicked suddenly. "Steroids?"

"No, Girl Scout Cookies," he deadpanned. "What the hell do you think I'm talking about?"

_I could live with myself if this one's blood were on my hands. Hell, probably gonna die, anyway. Scott's as useless as they come. No one would miss him. Maybe his beautiful eyes and lips.. Jesus, now I'm delirious._ He was dragged back into reality as Jackson's condescension grew. "Oh and uh, by the way, whatever it is you're selling? I'd stop sampling the merchandise. You look _wrecked_."

"I'll find him myself," Derek croaked, shoving past the smaller man. He knew that he needed to distance himself from the boy or he would lose it, and the last thing he needed was to attack someone in broad daylight.

"No, we're not done here!" Jackson barked as he gripped Derek's arm, intent on intimidating the larger man.

Reacting purely by instinct, Derek spun the jock around quickly and slammed him face-first into the lockers, his claws extending and piercing the soft flesh of Jackson's neck. The scent of fresh blood filled his nostrils, as did the heady scent of Jackson's spike in fear. It was intoxicating. Dangerously so.

He leaned forward, his breath washing over Jackson's ear. "You'd be wise to learn when you're out-matched. I could break you in half right now if I wanted to," he growled. "I could do _anything_ I wanted to you right now," he continued, grinding his hips into the smaller man. "Anything," he whispered, his lips on the shell of Jackson's ear.

"Get off of me!" Jackson yelled, terrified not only by Derek himself, but at the prospect of what he might do to him. The hallways had emptied during the course of their conversation, though, so his cries fell on deaf ears. "I'll scream," he threatened. _For all the good it would do._

"I bet you would," he mumbled, his free hand ghosting down the jock's side. "I can see you as a screamer. That tight little body, writhing underneath me, screaming as I teach you what happens to those who fuck with me."

Jackson's breathing grew heavy, fear still at the forefront of his emotions. However, some of it had given way to arousal. He'd been in control throughout his entire high school career. He was _the_ king of the school. No one could touch him. He was invincible.

And now he was just another little bitch, being put in his place by a nobody. A large, powerful, gorgeous nobody.

Derek scraped his teeth along Jackson's neck as he ground into him again. "Go ahead, kid. Scream for me," he muttered against Jackson's neck, smirking as he felt the boy shudder. "Not like this is turning you on or anything, right?" he asked as raked his retracted fingernails along Jackson's thigh, fingertips dancing dangerously close to the younger man's hardening length. "No, of course it isn't.."

Jackson let out a sound that one could only assume was a mixture of a whimper and a moan. Was Derek terrifying? Well _beyond_ terrifying. Jackson had fully expected the man to have snapped his neck by now. What frightened Jackson more than anything, however, was that this attempt at humiliation was turning him on. He knew it shouldn't be. _He_ was the alpha male, and no one ever saw him as a subservient little bitch. But Derek did, and Jackson couldn't do anything about it. So he told himself. He couldn't fight against that slack grip, the weak hands fumbling with his belt, the soft lips on his skin..

His breath hitched as he felt Derek's hand begin to snake it's way into his jeans.

And then there was a flash of pain as Derek withdrew his fingernails from Jackson's neck, hobbling away quickly.

Jackson remained motionless, as though he were made of stone. _What the fuck? What the_ fuck_?_

He'd felt like time had completely stopped, but the feeling quickly subsided as pain flared in his neck. He brought his hand to the wound, spinning quickly and looking for Derek. He barely caught a glimpse of the man as he disappeared into the sea of students the lingered in the halls.

He looked himself over, wondering why he wasn't as disheveled as he thought he should be, given what had just happened. And weren't the hallways completely empty not a moment ago?

"What the hell.."

He didn't just imagine all of that, right? _It was so real. I felt him. He was... I couldn't have been making that shit up!_ He glanced at his fingers, his stomach tightening at the sight of the crimson-stained digits. "What the hell did you do to me?" he whispered quietly.

**...**

Derek disappeared around a corner quickly, chest heaving. What the hell had just happened? He'd been about to ready to throttle that stupid little prick, had tried to leave to avoid doing so, and then he was practically fucking him in the hallway.

_I really_ am _delirious. What the fuck was that?_

He hadn't ever marked a human before, so he was far from an expert on what went on during the process. But he'd never heard of sharing day dreams or fantasies with someone who had been marked - let alone the nightmare of molesting what's-his-face. And was that really even a true mark? It was purely unintentional, a lapse in judgement as his body reacted purely on its own. That couldn't constitute a mark, right? Even if it did, that the one he'd marked was male didn't enter his mind. But that he'd marked that nobody? It was enough to churn his stomach.

"I need to find Scott," he groaned, trying to push the thoughts out of his mind. He had enough to deal with, between Hunter lying to him, Kate shooting him, and his imminent demise creeping closer.

He closed his eyes as he began to focus.


	3. Chapter II

**DISCLAIMER: Teen Wolf, and everything it contains, belongs to somebody else, so don't sue me pl0x.**

_A/N: So I'm actually pleased with the way this went down. I'd intended for this to be about twice as long as it is, but I was pleased with the stopping point. And now the ideas are flowing quite freely. R&R, even if you're anon. Always love input._

**Linked**  
[Chapter II]

Derek shifted quietly in the darkness. After the events of the day, he decided the best course of action was to simply go home and think. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. Thinking of the Argents and how they killed his sister. The alpha, and how to find him. Scott, the ever whiny and timid waste of a werewolf. And now his newest problem: Jackson.

_Jackson..._

Just thinking of the boy's name was enough to unnerve the man. He'd interacted with the kid for all of thirty seconds, and now he felt plagued by him. Throughout his entire battle with the magic bullet, he'd been unable to keep the teenager off of his mind. He was dying. Why the hell was he thinking about what he'd done to the boy? What he hadn't done to the boy, actually, but what it _felt_ like he'd done. It was so vivid - so real. He'd have sworn that it happened if not for certain minor details that didn't line up. What made matters worse is that while he felt as though he should be repulsed by the mere thought of touching the boy, he couldn't seem to rid himself of the desire to do it again.

_Not again. I never did it to begin with._

Derek arose quickly, pacing quietly. He reminded himself that nothing happened, and it was probably just some sort of odd side effect from the wolf's bane that was coursing through his system. He could accept that and move on, but the thoughts lingered when no other traces of his brush with death did. So what did that mean?

A visit to the local library yielded nothing helpful, neither in hard print nor through the magic of the internet. There was absolutely no documentation of what he could only surmise as a 'vision.' But even that was a stretch. It didn't feel like a portent of something to come - it was happening. He could _taste_ Jackson where he'd scraped his teeth along his neck. _When I didn't._ The scent of his arousal was fresh in his mind. _But he wasn't aroused, he was terrified._ He could still hear the moan that rolled off of Jackson's lips. _It was a whimper at best._

He could feel the anger rising in his chest as he balled his fists tightly, his claws digging into the heel of his hand and drawing blood, which only served to remind him of the mark on Jackson's neck.

He sighed quietly, willing the wolf back into the recesses of his psyche. He was used to discipline, and this business with Jackson was nothing more than a test. He simply had to put it out of his mind and overcome the problem. He'd done that a number of times in his life already, namely with Kate and the destruction of his entire family. Why would a teenage brat be more difficult to overcome than the loss of everyone he held dear?

"It won't," he said resolutely.

It was that simple. He would will the situation away. He still had the alpha to deal with, which was taking up a bulk of his time as it was. Not to mention trying to evade those that were hunting him. And with the added responsibility of helping Scott, he had enough on his plate to keep him occupied. Jackson was nothing, would _be_ nothing. He'd hit roadblocks before, and overcome them with ease. This would be no different.

So he kept telling himself.

_It isn't even Jackson that's bugging me now,_ he thought coolly. _I have no idea what that was, or if it's going to happen again. Is it some sort of connection, and did he feel what I was thinking? None of this makes any sense._

"A run," he said simply. Whenever he needed to clear his head, going out for run in the middle of the night always helped. Something about the whole moon and lycan connection, he supposed.

Without another moments pause, he bolted down the stairs and flung open the door.

"_Holy Jesus!_"

Although Derek tended toward being stone-like and never flinching, he nearly yelped in surprise himself as Stiles let out a scream. "Stiles, what the hell are you doing here?" he ground out, trying to calm himself before the kid knew that he'd startled him.

"What're _you_ doing here?" the boy countered, clutching his chest dramatically.

"I live here.." Derek answered, furrowing his brow.

"I live here," Stiles mocked, sighing heavily. "Holy crap, Derek, you trying to give me a heart attack or what?"

"I'm still not above ripping your throat out," he replied, his patience disappearing rapidly. "Now what are you doing here?"

"Scott asked me to check on you. Said you were being more dou-"

Derek's eyes narrowed before Stiles could finish.

"-uuifficult than usual," he said, barely saving it. "And something about Jackson's neck. Did the alpha get him, too?" Stiles groaned. "Wait, so now we get to deal with a whiny wolf _and_ a douchey one?"

"What the hell would I know about Jackson's neck?" he demanded.

"Ya know, I was gonna cut off your arm. For you. You think you could show me a little more respect?"

Derek flinched, as though lunging at the teenager, causing him to yelp in panic as he tripped over his own two feet, failing at an attempt to get away from the older man. "Bad dog!" he chided as he scrambled to his feet, watching Derek.

"Stiles, just...go," he said, unable to deal with any more from the awkward boy.

"But what about Jack-"

Derek's eyes flashed, and Stiles quickly got the point. "Okay, okay! Got it. Freakin' werewolves.." he muttered as he shambled toward his Jeep.

Before Stiles could say anything else, Derek leapt from the porch and ran full bore into the woods. Everything was a blur as he ran - sights, sounds, thoughts. This was what he needed. He needed the world to fall away while he simply existed. It was the only way to shut out the problem that was tormenting him. Any time that he felt his mind start to wander beyond simply keeping himself balanced and moving, he quickened his pace, forcing his thoughts back to the moment. He would beat this. He was a werewolf. Stronger than any human. He wouldn't be weak like the vast lot of them.

And Derek ran.

**...**

Jackson absent-mindedly drummed his pen atop his notebook, staring blankly at his laptop. After the events of the day, he just wanted to drown himself in school work, hoping that it might stave off the thoughts running rampant in his mind. The class: AP English. The assignment: A report on something of historical significance dealing with that particular student's family. Jackson's progress: Zero.

Not knowing his own family was certainly a slap in the face, as well as a big hindrance in his ability to do the assignment properly. But he wasn't even thinking much about that at the moment. His thoughts were elsewhere, which was unlike him. He was always so focused on everything he did, striving to be the best. He was captain of the lacrosse team. He was a straight-A student enrolled in AP classes. He never lost focus, because he refused to be less than perfect.

But that didn't matter. He'd tried shutting out the thoughts about what had gone on with Derek, but every time he finally felt like he'd accomplished it, they'd sneak back in. It was a never-ending cycle of torment. "Fuck!" he yelled, lobbing his pen across the room. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"Jackson, honey? Are you okay?" came a muffled call from his mother.

"I'm fine," he shouted. "Just..bit my tongue." He thought for a moment, wondering why he felt the need to lie about something so minuscule. He supposed he was used to it. He was a compulsive liar; not out of spite, but simply out of necessity. If he lied about everything, no one would know the real him. The real, screwed up, always lonely with severe abandonment issues and the constant need for perfection so that others would love him _him_.

Jackson groaned in disgust and resignation, slamming his laptop shut. "Screw it, I'll do it later," he grumbled, rubbing distractedly at the marks on his neck. He paced around his room quietly, trying to organize his thoughts. Yes, he had began firing his mouth off at Derek, as he was prone to doing. And yes, Derek had retaliated by shoving him against his locker. But that was it, right? Everything else that happened _didn't_ actually happen. It was some sort of twisted...whatever it was. Jackson didn't know. He didn't want to know. Did he?

_No!_

..damn it, yes.

It wasn't bad enough that he didn't know what the hell had happened that day, but now his mind was at war with itself. But he couldn't figure out _why_ he didn't want to know. If he knew, he could fix it, right? Or at least prevent something like that from happening again. Not that he planned on ever running into Derek Hale again.

Unable to keep the demons in his head at bay, he decided to try his hand at a late-night run. He unbuttoned and tossed aside his shirt, his pants following quickly afterward. He settled on a pair of shorts, a tank top and a windbreaker, since there was a light nip in the air.

"When all else fails, run. That'll help," he said, determined to get past this.

Throwing on a pair of shoes, he headed downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and take a swig before heading for the door.

"Going out for a run so late?" his father questioned.

"Couldn't think. Just need to clear my head a bit," he replied.

His father nodded, lightly clapping him on the shoulder. "Just be careful, you know your mother," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, got it dad," he nodded, forcing a smile he didn't feel. "See ya."

Pushing the troublesome thoughts away, he left the house and headed nowhere in particular, going wherever his legs took him. The air was cool against his skin, but his muscles were warming quickly. He focused on his breathing, the feel of his feet slapping against the pavement, the tightening and loosening of his muscles. His mind was at peace, at least for now. One thing he could always count on to help get him focused was some sort of physical activity. Lacrosse, running, lifting weights, anything physical. Physical. _Like sex with Derek?_

Jackson groaned, having thought he'd successfully steered his mind clear of the Derek topic. "Damn it," he heaved, slowing to a stop. He huffed lightly, chewing his lip in thought. _Why can't I get him out of my mind? I'm not gay. I mean, I wouldn't care if I were, but I'm not, so what the hell is going on?_ "Danny," he muttered to himself, the realization hitting him suddenly. "If anyone can possibly help me make heads or tails of this, it'd be him."

Confident that his best friend might be able to offer up some sort of answer, or even just some advice, Jackson began jogging toward his house, thankful that he'd been heading in that direction already without realizing it.

**...**

Derek slowed his pace as he made his way into the outskirts of town. He'd been running full-throttle for nearly thirty minutes, seriously draining himself in the process. But it had been worth the expenditure - he'd all but forgotten about the annoying jock that kept trying to invade his mind.

Until he caught a glimpse of him rounding the corner.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered.

It wasn't long before Jackson noticed him as well, jerking to a stop. They eyed one another, neither speaking; neither moving. It was almost what Derek would have imagined a showdown in old western movies to be like. They stared, unblinking, seeing which of the other would make the first move. Though what that move might be, neither of them knew. Derek was no coward, so fleeing in the face of adversity was never an option. Tucking his tail between his legs and running away was out. But should he approach him? What good would that do? And why he would want to do so in the first place was beyond him. His only option was the middle ground - remaining still and hoping he might disappear. He rolled his eyes at the thought, but wouldn't mind if it actually happened.

Jackson had apparently been warring over his options as well, standing just as still as Derek did. Under most circumstances, he might find the situation funny. Truthfully, he _did_ find it a bit funny. But he could smell the fear and uncertainty rolling off of the younger man in waves. As awkward as the situation was, he felt a pang of guilt. Perhaps he owed the kid an apology. After all, he never would have reacted as he had if not for the wolf's bane messing with his basic motor and neural functions. Mentally kicking himself, he decided he'd try and be civil, even though it was against his very nature. "Look, kid," he began as he slowly began moved toward him, suppressing a smirk as Jackson took a step back, a spike of fear wafting through the night air. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanted to apologize."

Jackson was torn on how to react. He could easily just turn and run, or he could be the cocky, arrogant teenager he was used to being. Somehow, the latter option seemed like less of an option and more of a death wish. The whole situation came about because of his attitude, and he thought that a similar display might yield even worse results than it had previously.

"Alright," he said simply, unsure what else to say without risking losing a limb to the older man.

Derek slowed to a stop a few feet in front of Jackson, staring at him. He sensed a faint trace of arousal, but it disappeared quickly. "I was on edge, and dealing with you just wasn't something I could handle. I reacted...poorly."

"Did you.."

Derek stared quietly. "Did I...?"

"What did you do to me?" Jackson ventured. "I mean, when you shoved me.." he trailed off, embarrassment, arousal, and guilt emanating in waves.

Derek's heart stopped momentarily. _But it didn't happen. How would he know about it if it didn't happen?_

"I mean, you.." He groaned, flustered. "Screw it. Were you trying to fuck me or something?" _So much for subtlety..._

Derek decided quickly that feigning ignorance was his best course of action. He didn't need Jackson to know that he'd felt the same thing, even though he was sure it didn't actually happen. "Keep dreaming, kid. If I'd have wanted to fuck you, there wouldn't be a 'try.'"

Jackson's anger was bubbling to the surface quickly, his fists clenched. "Don't think that just because you got in a lucky shot I can't hold my own," he said defiantly, stepping forward. He had no idea where the sudden bravery had come from. He knew Derek could easily kill him; or rape him, or whatever if he'd half a mind to. But Jackson wasn't a puny child, and he wanted to make sure Derek knew it.

Which he immediately regretted.

Derek's hand was wrapped around his throat before Jackson knew what hit him. "That so?" he - growled? Jackson swore he heard an almost feral growl come out of him. The hand around his neck was tight, but Jackson was still able to breathe. He knew that the man was making a point. "You should learn when to keep your damn mouth shut, kid. You're gonna get yourself into trouble one day. And not everyone's as nice as I am," he smirked.

"I'm sorry," Jackson pleaded, prying at Derek's fingers.

"Say it again," he said, holding the smaller man mere inches from his face.

"I'm sorry.." Jackson said quietly. The scratches on his neck were warm, almost tingling. But not in a bad way. It was almost euphoric. Despite the fact that Derek could kill him where he stood, he couldn't find it in himself to be scared. The grip that Derek had on him felt.. Right? It was dominant, possessive, and it felt right. He didn't know where this was coming from, but he didn't seem to mind. He stopped fighting Derek's grip, his fingers resting on the man's forearm.

Derek could feel a rapid shift in Jackson's emotions. The fear had given away completely to pure lust, and it had happened almost instantly. The sudden snap of arousal was flooding his senses. "Who knew you were a closet masochist," he murmured, his lips hovering dangerously close to Jackson's, tightening his grip slightly. Jackson moaned softly, his eyelids fluttering. He could feel Derek's breath ghosting across his lips, and it was driving him mad. "Please," he whimpered.

"Please what?" Derek teased, his grip tightening further.

Jackson tried to close the distance between them, wanting nothing more than to feel Derek's lips on his. But the bigger man's grip held fast. "Derek," he moaned, his hands moving to the man's chest. "Please," he whispered.

A faint trace of a smile danced across Derek's lips as he finally gave in to Jackson's pleas, capturing the younger man's full lips with his own. He growled quietly as his tongue slipped into Jackson's mouth, reveling in the noises Jackson was making as he explored its velvety warmth. He released his grip on the boy's throat, crushing his body against his own.

Jackson's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. This was wrong. It was incredible. He should be scared. He was intoxicated. This man could kill him. This man could _claim_ him. "Derek," he moaned, achingly hard and yearning for the other man to _touch_ him.

Derek smiled as he began trailing kisses down his throat, his hand drifting downward as he did so. He teased at the soft flesh of his shoulder, his mouth aching with the desire to sink his fangs into that tender flesh. He gripped Jackson's erection through his shorts, eliciting a throaty groan from the smaller man. "More," he pleaded softly.

"You don't want more," he cautioned, fighting the wolf as it clawed its way to the surface.

"Don't you want to..?" Jackson asked huskily, tilting his head lightly, allowing better access to the werewolf. "I know _I_ do," he breathed, bucking into Derek's touch. "One little bite. What could it hurt?"

He hesitated a moment as Jackson's words sank in. He was right. One little bite couldn't hurt, could it? He just had to make sure he kept himself in control. That wasn't so hard. He'd been doing it all his life. Just one little bite, a brief moment of pain for the younger man that would yield itself to bliss quickly. His fangs descended as he placed a chaste kiss to the sweet warmth of Jackson's neck, before plunging his fangs into him.

And the ice shattered.

Both could feel the world fall out from beneath them, and time stopped. Derek blinked. He was still gripping Jackson by the throat. Jackson had apologized. It was happening again. It _wasn't_ happening again. The same surreal feeling blanketed the both of them as Derek's hand fell away, and he simply stared.

Jackson took a step back, his eyes never leaving Derek. "You.." he managed. He tried forming words, but nothing would come out. Whatever had happened to them earlier was happening again. But it wasn't actually _happening_, and Jackson couldn't figure out what that meant. Or why Derek bit him. How he knew Derek could. _Why_ Derek could. "S-stay away from m-me," he stuttered as he turned, running as fast as he could.

Derek watched him in silence, the tang of blood fresh on his tongue.


	4. Chapter III

**DISCLAIMER: I don't claim ownership over anything Teen Wolf.**

_A/N: Apologies for the delay, but my schedule has been a bit tight this week, and this chapter flat-out refused to be written. But I finally emerged the victor! Enjoy. And please, for the love of god, R&R! I'm needy!_

**Linked**  
[Chapter III]

The cool air of the evening whipped by as Jackson sprinted away from Derek, moving as fast as he could. Whatever it was that happened earlier in the day, it had just happened again. Worse than anything was that he was _actually_ enjoying it. Being held by those powerful arms, the rough stubble scratching at Jackson's skin as he kissed him, those fangs plunging into his delicate skin.

_What was that about, anyway? Since when did this guy have fangs? Though it goes along perfectly with those damn claws._

Jackson eventually slowed as his lungs felt like they might burst. He leaned heavily against a light pole, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. He'd put a decent gap between them and figured if Derek had wanted to catch him, he'd have done so easily. His hand went to the marks on his neck as he continued to pant, the tingle he'd felt earlier - _or didn't feel, whatever.._ - beginning to fade. "How the hell did he do this to me, anyway?"

He shook his head as he forced the thoughts aside, trying instead to focus on normalizing his breathing.

**...**

Derek closed his eyes as Jackson ran off. He didn't blame the younger man. This was confusing to Derek, a werewolf. He could only imagine how confusing it must be to a kid that knew nothing of werewolves, marks and the like. There was no point in trying to wrap his mind around what had happened at this point. He knew that there was something going on, and it only happened when he was in close proximity to Jackson.

"I marked him," he mumbled, kicking himself internally.

He'd never heard of a mark actually creating vivid illusions like these, but it seemed like it was the only explanation he had to go on. There wasn't much he could do about the situation either way. He hadn't intended to mark Jackson, nor would he have ever made a conscious decision to do so. But he was stuck with it, which meant he could stay away from Jackson and dwell on the subject, or he could try and confront the boy and tell him what he knew. Somehow, though, he didn't think it would go over all too well.

_But he knew I could bite him. Seriously bite him. Maybe once a person is marked they know things on a subconscious level?_ It was the best he could come up with, and it didn't entirely unlikely. Maybe knowing this might makes things a bit easier for Jackson to swallow.

The question he found himself asking now was whether or not he should find Jackson and tell him immediately, or wait it out and find him later. Giving him some time might help, but at the same time, it might make the teenager even more wary of him. He wasn't pleased with either option, but there was little he could do.

Opting to confront him now and get things out of the way, Derek took off in the direction the younger man had gone, trying to track him by his scent. The smell of pure Jackson mixed with something - Derek guessed sandal wood - and it made finding him far easier than Derek initially imagined it would. He managed to close in on Jackson within ten minutes, dropping to a light jog to mask the sound of him approaching.

"Jackson," he said quietly, announcing his presence.

Jackson jumped, spinning around quickly. "I thought I told you to stay away from me!" he shouted angrily, a mixture of embarrassment and fear rolling permeating the air.

"Shut up and listen, got it?"

"Fuck you," Jackson spat as he turned to walk away.

Derek grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, glaring down at him. "I didn't give you a choice. And if you don't want to lose a few teeth, I'd suggest you watch how you speak to me."

Jackson instinctively pulled his arm back and delivered a blow square to Derek's jaw. Derek could see it coming in just enough time to turn his head along with the punch, absorbing some of the impact. He turned his glare on the boy, fighting tooth and nail not to let his temper flare in fear of loosing the wolf. He released Jackson's arm only to grip the front of his jacket before sweeping his legs out from beneath him, slamming him down into the concrete far harder than he probably should have.

The air in Jackson's lungs immediately rushed out, leaving him in a state of panic as Derek glared down at him. He wanted to call out for help, but he could do nothing but gasp, like a fish out of water.

"This not withstanding, I'm not gonna hurt you. But you need to listen to me. I don't know _what_ is going on," he said truthfully, "but I have a better idea of the possibilities. You apparently know something about me, but I don't know how _much_ you know." Jackson nodded, still fighting for oxygen, but feeling that acknowledgement of some sort might better his chances of escaping this situation unscathed. "So let's keep this simple. Those marks on your neck are what's causing this. And it's something about our proximity, or touching each other, I don't know. But I don't know how to control it - hell, if it can even _be_ controlled. The only thing I _do_ know is that you pissing me off doesn't help matters any."

"Alright," Jackson managed raggedly, feeling himself slowly begin to calm beneath the larger man.

Derek could feel the beginnings of arousal in the air and he stared at Jackson briefly. "You also need to keep your hormones in check," he said pointedly, trying his best to keep the situation under control. Jackson looked mortified, apparently unsure how Derek knew. The werewolf leaned down and level his eyes with Jackson's. "And lastly, I'll stick to my word about not harming you if you make sure you don't ever breathe a word of any of this. Got it?"

"Got it," the teenager agreed, feeling as though he were staring death in the face, in the most literal interpretation of the phrase.

Derek nodded, making no move to get up. The way Jackson looked beneath him was far more appealing to him than it should be. That beautiful skin, and the delicate fabric of his running outfit that would just be so _easy_ to rip off of him-

Derek shook his head as he stood up, trying to ward off what he knew was coming. "Go home," he ordered, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out everything. Jackson watched him carefully as he got to his feet. He stalled for a moment, torn between saying something and just leaving.

"Not a word from me," he said finally, giving Derek a once-over before jogging away.

"Good boy," Derek breathed, watching the boy walk away with flared eyes. He stood his ground as Jackson left, attempting to calm himself. He was slowly forcing the wolf back down, but other parts of his simply _refused_ to go back down.

Trying his best to ignore his own arousal, Derek turned back to the woods and headed home, muttering silent curses under his breath.

**...**

Derek leaned heavily against the door of his home as he slammed it shut, his arousal burning and coiling deeply in his chest. His breathing was erratic, and his head was swimming. Things with the poor little rich boy were beginning to take their toll on the older man, and he couldn't suppress his desire.

He peeled his shirt away as he made his way upstairs, tossing it aside. Entering what he classified as his bedroom, he immediately kicked off his shoes as he fumbled with his belt, crossing the soot-covered floor as he removed the offending article before sliding the denim confines of his jeans down and kicking them away.

He fell onto the mattress he'd salvaged with a grunt, his skin burning and slicked with sweat. Images of Jackson were burned into his mind, like a flashbulb-image on his retinas. Jackson pinned helplessly against a locker. Begging and pleading for more as Derek gripped him by the throat. Concrete biting into the skin of his knees as he worked Derek's erection with his warm tongue in the still of the night.

Derek growled softly as he reached down and took hold of his arousal, his eyes sliding shut at the rough friction of his palm. The images continued to dance in his mind as he stroked himself, accompanied by very real sensations. He could _feel_ the wet heat of Jackson's mouth around his erection, the electric tingle of his fingers on his thighs. He could taste Jackson's tongue in his mouth, infused with the coppery taste of his blood from when he'd _not_ bitten him. "God, Jackson," he muttered, unaware he'd been speaking.

He changed his rhythm as the scenes in his mind's eye shifted to Jackson moaning beneath him. He could hear the breathy pleas and pleasure-filled whines that spilled over Jackson's beautiful lips as he slid deeper into him, muscles clenching around his member. He'd begun thrusting into his hand as the image intensified, a strangled cry coming from Jackson's throat as he came while Derek thrust harder, faster. The heat in his chest burned hotter, threatening to burn him to the very core.

And then Jackson shifted and bit into the flesh of Derek's throat.

He could feel each fang breaking through his skin, and something in chest snapped. His eyes flared azure and he tumbled over the edge, painting his stomach alabaster with a howl of pleasure. His vision was blotted, as though he'd stared at the sun for too long. The images of Jackson had all but disappeared as he crashed headfirst into his orgasm.

As he slowly came down from his high, the room finally coming back into focus, Derek panted lightly. Having been single since the whole ordeal with Kate murdering his entire family, Derek was no stranger to masturbatory habits. But he'd never experienced anything more powerful than what he'd just gone through. He felt _everything_ that he had imagined, as though Jackson were really there. Being truthful with himself, he hadn't even experienced anything that powerful when he was with Kate. Whatever this was, it was far more dangerous than Derek had initially thought.

_It's over now, though. Out of my system._ And he was right. Try as he might, he couldn't bring even a clouded image of Jackson to mind. And he was alright with that.

He laid a hand on his stomach as he felt himself relax, only to grimace as his freshly-spilled seed clung to his fingers. "Right.. That.."


End file.
